


Dream That I Forget

by mydogwatson



Series: DIALOGUES 2 [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, John is helpless, M/M, Sherlock Is In Trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 01:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The path to love is still rocky.  John is at war and Sherlock is lost on the streets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream That I Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Sunday. Hope you are enjoying this series, despite the gloom! Always love hearing what you think.

Forget that I remember  
and dream that I forget.

-Algernon Swinburne

 

The phone rang and woke John abruptly, with that particular jolt of adrenalin that came from waking, suddenly, in a war zone.

He was startled even though the sound was somewhat muffled, because this particular phone was kept under the cot, always on and always charging. For a moment, John did not really react, because he’d heard that ringing only once before and that once had been months ago.

The phone was not even, officially, his.

The day before he’d shipped out, a parcel arrived at the barracks, delivered by a stone-faced man in a black suit, who said nothing save to affirm that it was indeed John Watson to whom he was handing the small box. When John opened it, he found tucked inside what was undoubtedly the most expensive mobile he had ever seen. Along with a note written on thick, creamy stationery of the sort that could only belong to one person he knew.

// John,  
I know that you have remained a loyal friend to my brother over the years, despite the fact that since you both left university, he has made contact between you so very difficult. There are reasons why he has often treated you so badly, but those reasons are his to tell, not mine. I do not believe that you have seen Sherlock in some time, so you are probably not aware of the recent downturn his life has taken, including a persistent use of various illegal drugs. At the moment, he frequently seems to be living on the streets, making it difficult for me to maintain my usual level of brotherly surveillance. I worry about him constantly. Especially, if I may say, as you will soon be so far away. It has always been my belief that when Sherlock finally hits bottom, assuming he survives the fall, that it will be you to whom he will turn. Please take this telephone with you and reserve it only for receiving communications from my brother. He has the number and I trust that he will use it when there is nothing else for him to do. I am sorry to burden you with this as you are already doing more than your duty for Queen and country. But I hope you are still as fond of Sherlock as you have been since primary school. I know that he still regards you that way, despite how he has behaved in recent times.  
-Mycroft Holmes//

So, of course, he brought the damned phone with him to Afghanistan. It had only rung that one time in the past year and when he answered it there was only the sound of harsh breathing on the other end. But he knew it was Sherlock, would have recognised those breaths under any circumstances. So had Sherlock finally hit bottom, as Mycroft had predicted? John didn’t even want to think about what that might mean. “I’m here,” he said softly. “Talk to me, Sherlock.” There was no response but the breathing, which went on for a few more moments before the connection was gone. He’d tried to call back many times, but there was never any answer.

The fact that there had been no contact since then broke John Watson’s heart a little more every day. Of course, he was a soldier and a private man, so no one knew that he was hurting so badly inside. Ironically, there was only one person in the world with whom he might have shared the pain.

He rolled over and quickly reached under the cot to grab the phone. “Hello?” he said.

“John?” The voice was so very soft, so very hesitant, and so completely un-Sherlockian.

“Sherlock,” John said in a gasp of relief. “Thank god.”

“John? Is that you?”

“Yes, of course it’s me. I’ve been so worried about you. Where are you, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said in a bewildered voice. “I forget where I am. Can’t you come find me? Where are you, John?”

John sat up in the cot, thinking that if the pain in his chest got any worse it might just finish him off. “I’m in Afghanistan, Sherlock. You know that.”

“Are you? Why? That’s too far away, John.”

John had been at war for what seemed like a long time and he had seen some dreadful things, but nothing had ever terrified him like hearing Sherlock, his brilliant, amazing Sherlock Holmes, sounding like this. Like a lost and frightened child.

He was also more than a little angry, because Sherlock had done this to himself.

“John? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here,”John said heavily. “Try to remember where you are, Sherlock.”

There was a shuffling sound. “I’m under a bridge. It’s dark. Someone was chasing me. I came under here to hide.”

“Oh, Sherlock.”

“Are you still my friend?”

“Always. I’m always your friend.”

“We should have become pirates,” Sherlock said mournfully.

John gave a hollow laugh. “Never too late. Shall we run away to sea, Sherlock?”

“I wanted to tell you…I always wanted to tell you…” Sherlock started to mutter under his breath.

“You can tell me anything, Sherlock, you know that.”

“Huh. Not this. You wouldn’t like it.” Sherlock coughed, an ugly, fluid-filled sound. “Are you almost here, John? I can’t see you yet.”

“I’m in Afghanistan, Sherlock,” John said, trying not to weep.

“But you’re coming, right? You coming to find me?”

“I can’t…”

But Sherlock didn’t seem to hear him. “Is that you? I see a light. I can’t wait to see you, John. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too.”

“There are some stars out tonight. Remember the time we camped out in your back garden and you tried to teach me about the constellations?”

“I remember. We ate HobNobs and drank lemonade.”

“I wish we could do that again,” Sherlock whispered.

“We can,” John said. “We really can.”

Sherlock seemed to draw in a shaky breath. “I want to say---” Then there was a yelp and the sounds of a scuffle.

“Sherlock!” John shouted, afraid that whomever had been chasing Sherlock had caught up with him.

Another voice, this one soft and smooth, took over. “Dr. Watson? We have reached my brother. He will soon be on his way to a facility. Thank you for your help.”

John wanted to talk to Sherlock again, but the connection was cut abruptly.

He was not really surprised that Mycroft had used the telephone as a tracking device. It was exactly the kind of thing he would do. But this time John could not be angry, because at least Sherlock would be safe now. John leaned over the side of the bed and jacked the mobile into the charger again.

Some time ago John had stopped deceiving himself as to how he felt about Sherlock Holmes. He only cursed the bad luck [or judgment] that led him to fall in love with a self-diagnosed sociopath with a drug habit that was probably going to kill him one day. Most of all, he despised himself for never having told Sherlock the truth. Might it have made a difference? Would knowing that he was loved have kept Sherlock away from the drugs? Or, on hearing the news, would he have only sneered and made some dry comment about the foolishness of emotions? John had decided not to risk it and put all his efforts into trying to keep Sherlock as his friend. Which had been difficult enough.

He realised suddenly that he was on duty in only a few minutes. John tucked his thoughts of Sherlock back into the safe and secret place in his heart and started to dress.

The phone never rang again.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Two more of these little pieces to go and then I will be working on the AU until it is done!
> 
> On 5 May, I head to London for three weeks. Anybody up for a pint at the Sherlock Holmes Pub?


End file.
